Sacré
by fujoshisx2
Summary: Their last Christmas before her departure.


_**Sacré**_

_La Charité-sur-Loire, December 1429_

The only church in this small town in the outskirts of Paris was Sainte-Croix-Notre-Dame. Part of it was severely damaged, but the inside decorations were still there, including the crucifix and and rows and rows of benches. It was surely a shame that the previously color-painted windows were mostly broken long ago, leaving tenths of bodies below the foundation to lie in a shade of black and white.

It was not cold enough to snow, but there weather was slightly chillier than I thought it would be. Luckily Francis was careful enough to bring enough coats for both of us.

He stood beside me but he did not kneel and pray; he never knelt before anyone or anything as for as I was concerned. Even when Arthur Kirkland held a sword against his neck, he still raised his head an looked directly in his opponent's eyes.

For these three years he had been with me, I was able to feel protected for the first time in my life. I no longer felt insecure, because I knew that at least him- my own homeland- supported whatever that I did.

I always thought that Francis was the one who protected me, but he always insisted that it was the other way round.

He looked indifferent while he stared blankly at the remaining ruins of the church, but I knew that he was very tired. More tired than I was after every bloody battle I had been through.

Although he looked about the same age as I did, I knew that he had gone through a lot more than a hundred year old men did. After all, his presence could never be destroyed by any force; that was what I always believed in.

"You did not have to accompany me here, you know," I stood up and said to him. "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

"I know you are," he assured me, walking over to the walls to examine the faded canvases that were once oil paintings.

"You should have gone to rest after we went back to Paris."

"I could not risk it, _Jeanne_."

"Risk what, may I ask?"

"That friendly neighbor of ours may come and snatch you away any time," he said bitterly. I knew what he meant by that; the British certainly did not like my presence.

"You should stop worrying," I told him as he merely shrugged. "We should enjoy the time when there is no war."

"No, there is not; not yet."

The church was beautiful even if half of it stood in ruins. But there would always be yet another war and destroy it completely. That day may be next year, next month, next week or even tomorrow. We would never know who first pulled out their swords and gathered their soldiers, but that was how the world worked for centuries.

The strong consume the weak, and the cycle would always go on.

Sometimes I wished that I could be immortal like Francis, but he always condemned my wishful thinking.

He was in pain; both physically and mentally. But he had too much pride to ever admit it. The war had cost half of him, and after all this time being by his side made me realize that I was far from being strong and courageous.

He took everything on himself, just like how our Lord did on the cross.

"Francis?" I called out to him from behind his back.

He did not answer, but I knew he was listening like he always did.

"I am more than glad to spend this Christmas with you."

Francis gave me a weary smile and did something that I never expected him to do- pressing his lips on my forehead as he took me in his arms.

It was almost dusk and the sky was beginning to darken as he held my shoulders and said these words that I would never forget.

"If those who had been in such pain and grudge," he said. "Could live their lives again as a commoner, fall in love like a commoner, travel like a commoner, and laugh and cry like a commoner…" I could almost hear a sob in his tone.

"If only they could be blessed in their next lives…"

I felt tears in the corners of my eyes as a breeze blew by and he continued, "When I first saw you, I thought that He wasn't fair to you. But you will live on happily, I'm more than sure of that.

"I don't care what other people say," he told me. "You are the most beautiful lady who has ever lived on the world."

He was so very gentle to me as if I was someone sacred, someone holy and could not be undermined.

_Sacré_, he once called me. And that was more than anything I could ask for.

When the sunset he got on his coach which would bring him back to the central of Paris. The war for him was never over, as there would always be another army that would pick a fight on us. He left so swiftly without even saying goodbye, but I understood that he did not want me to see the tears in his eyes.

"Joyeux Noël," those were the only words he said to me before leaving.

"But it is not Christmas yet," I said to him, but not in a teasing manner.

"I have a feeling that we wouldn't be able to see each other for quite a long time; just in case," he said with a sorrowful smile that I did not want to see

"We will," I said firmly. "We will meet again."

He did not want a goodbye, and nor did I, to be fair.

Maybe it was fate itself who planned this last meeting of ours; before I set my feet on yet another battlefield which would possibly be the end of me.

And it would be a battle that I would have to fight on my own.

And perhaps, we would meet again in another place, another time, and another life.


End file.
